by Jessica Lee
“I think we both could use a shot right about now to help us relax.”
Creed sniffed the colorless contents. The fumes slammed into his nostrils and he jerked back with a cough. “What is this?”
“Tequila, Mr. Enforcer,” she said and plopped down beside him. “You don’t drink much in your time?”
“The job and alcohol don’t mix.”
“Well, you’re stuck here for the meantime, so I’d say you’re off the clock. And based on the way you’re working the enamel on your molars, you need a drink real bad.” Shayla lifted her glass in salute and then tossed back the contents. A loud wheeze followed on the heels of a cough. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “Wow. Haven’t done that in a while,” she managed to squeak out. “Your turn.” Shayla tilted her head to the side and lifted a brow in challenge.
His cock twitched.
Dammit. Creed dropped his gaze and studied the inside of his glass. Why the hell not? Getting drunk couldn’t be worse than what he was experiencing at the moment. He brought the tumbler up, opened his throat, and poured the full dose of liquor inside. Fire licked at his esophagus. He squeezed his eyelids shut, the burn a welcome distraction from the heat searing his groin. When he could breathe again, he shoved the glass back in Shayla’s direction.
“Again,” he croaked.
Shayla grinned. “You sure? You said you don’t drink.”
“I do tonight.”
“Okaaay.”
Twenty minutes and at least four shots later—he may have lost count—a warm buzz had crawled into his veins and up into his brain. And yeah, Creed had to admit he kind of liked the way everything seemed so much less damn serious.
Shayla giggled, listed to her side, and bumped into his shoulder. “So tell me, were you dreaming about me, blue eyes?” The question came out in that I’m-trying-to-whisper-but-the-whole-room-can-really-hear-me kind of voice. Creed glanced down at her. Her palm covered her mouth, but he couldn’t miss the smile behind it.
“According to the research data, vivid dreams are a common occurrence during withdrawal.”
“Vivid dreams are a common occurrence,” she mocked and then burst out with another laugh. “So you were dreaming about me.” Shayla reached out and brushed her fingers over his hair, the sensation stoking his core temperature higher than the alcohol had managed.
“Maybe.” He couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his lips.
Her head rolled back between her shoulders and she drawled, “Oh please tell me your dream had me at least twenty pounds lighter, my hair with a better cut, and I wore something much sexier than terrycloth.”
He had no idea what possessed him to touch her, but before he could stop himself, Creed had her nape in his palm, locking his gaze with hers. “There is nothing wrong with the way you look this very second. You’re beautiful, Shayla. Don’t ever doubt that.” He shook his head.
Who moved first, Creed had no idea, but somehow their mouths had become fused. Their tongues joined. Tasting, teasing, teeth clicking.
He’d never kissed.
Why the hell had he never kissed? It was the most delicious act. His arms encircled the vision from his dreams. His heart raced, pounding away in a mad jungle beat. The ache had returned with a vengeance inside his cock. Creed groaned into Shayla’s mouth and broke away on a gasp. “Oh God… I need…” Shit. He couldn’t find the words to describe the engulfing desire burning him alive.
“Shh…” Shayla brushed her palms over his cheeks, then trailed a path of kisses down the side of his neck. Creed lowered his back onto the sofa, dragging her with him, unable to deny her access to anything. If she didn’t touch him, he’d surely combust. She wiggled out of her robe and tossed it to the wood floor. The heat of her body next to his radiated through his flesh. Drawing him like a man stranded in the arctic tundra to a raging fire.
Creed kicked the covers away from his waist and legs. His shaft strained against the confines of his boxer-briefs. Somehow she’d crawled inside his mind and read his thoughts, because Shayla eased up and over, straddling his thighs. His breath hitched. The long t-shirt she’d worn under her robe gathered at her hips, leaving her legs bare. Her breasts rose and fell in rapid succession, her nipples straining against the thin fabric. Creed reached low and smoothed his palms over her exposed flesh. God, she felt good. Soft.
Shayla leaned over, arching her body until their mouths met. She danced over his lips in moves that mimicked the actions of their hips with each caress. He licked the full curve and seam of her mouth. Tequila with a hint of mint teased his tongue, and she was killing him. She kept her body just out of reach. Over him, but never close enough to touch. His brain may have started off fogged, but at that moment, he’d become crystal clear.
“Please,” he moaned against her lips, then grasped her hips, pulling her into him as he arched up. The top of her mons brushed the backside of his swollen cock, sending a ricochet of sensation up his spine. He jerked. “God, yes!”
Shayla let go, her body melding with his. Creed wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, grinding the hard evidence of his desire into her lower half. “You’re driving me mad.”
“I know what you mean,” she breathed against his lips. “This is so good. I never expected—” Creed claimed her mouth, cutting off whatever she had intended to say.
Over and over he worked his cock against her body. The material of his underwear proving negligible as the friction drove him higher and higher to a crest just out of reach. Not enough. Dammit, he needed more.
“Shayla.” He panted. “I don’t know… I’m losing my mind.” He shook his head. “I’ve got to—” Her hand dove beneath his waistband and gripped his pulsing rod. “Oh fuck!” He’d never used that particular expletive, but at that very second it was damn perfect. Creed’s spine went rigid. His arms and legs trembled. He couldn’t breathe. Had lost the ability to form a coherent thought. The only thing he knew was if she didn’t move, do something, he would lose his mind.
“Do you like that?” Shayla slid her hand lower and applied a gentle squeeze to the base. All Creed could manage was a groan. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Up his cock she stroked, dragging the air from his lungs along with the action. Two more slides of her palm along his length had his hips arching, pumping into her fist. His breath sawing from his lungs. The here and now fell away. His world had compressed, narrowed down to the sweet oblivion growing between his legs.
“Oh shit,” he cried out. “Yes! D-don’t stop.” Creed thrashed his head from side to side, pistoning his hips. His balls tightened. Pressure building. Intensifying. He moaned under the onslaught. Dear God, he was coming unglued. A burst of electricity shot out through the tip of his cock and arrowed up his spine in a blinding arc of pleasure, locking the air in his chest. He watched in stunned ecstasy as wave after wave of semen jetted from his shaft, dripped from Shayla’s hand, and splattered his abs. Every pump of her fist milked another stream from his cock in what seemed like an unending session of pleasure. When he didn’t think it could get any better, Shayla leaned in and wrapped her lips around the head of erection. His back spasmed and he gasped. The sensation jerked his diaphragm back into action. She licked him clean, then straightened, giving Creed the most satisfied smile.
“Wow…” Shayla stretched over his chest and placed a teasing kiss to his lips. “That was intense.” The salty taste of his own fluids leached onto his tongue, jolting his taste buds and his brain with the harsh reality of what he’d just allowed to happen. He’d officially crossed the line and become the rutting animal he said he despised. Creed swallowed the now-bitter evidence down his throat.
“Creed?” Shayla placed a palm to his cheek, turning his gaze toward her.
“Yeah,” he managed to get out. “Intense.” He pressed his hands to her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, shifting out from under her. “I’m sure there’s some social protocol for what happens next, but I-I…” He grabbed the sheet from th
e sofa and homed in on the direction of the bathroom. “I have to…” He glanced back and caught a glimpse of Shayla’s stunned expression. His gut clenched. Oh Christ. This was such a disaster. He was a disaster. “I just need a minute to breathe.”
Chapter Four
The morning sun sliced through the branches of the large oaks shading the front porch. Creed stepped onto the wide boards, the warmth of the wood seeping into the soles of his feet. It was beautiful out here. He could see why Shayla would want to spend time in the place. Creed leaned onto the railing, allowing the rays to heat his bare chest. As soon as the sky had gone from dark to light, he’d thrown on a spare pair of black denim from his pack, along with a matching short-sleeved shirt he’d left open, and stepped outside for some fresh air.
Last night when he’d returned from the bathroom and had regained some ability to think straight, Creed found the living room and the sofa empty. He’d retraced his steps, noting the closed door to Shayla’s bedroom with no light shining from underneath.
He didn’t blame her.
He’d been an ass.
Despite the fact she barely knew him, she’d been open and caring in regards to his state of mind and his pleasure. But he’d been so caught up in the swirling mess inside his head, he’d dismissed her. For Shayla, their time together had been “intense”. He’d agreed at the time, because it was all he could gather inside his head to express. But for Creed, “intense” barely defined the experience.
The aroma of coffee wafted into his nostrils. Shayla was up. Somehow he had to try to make this right between them. Creed was stuck there for the next several days, and he didn’t want to hurt or alienate her.
Creed stepped back inside. Shayla stood at the kitchen bar, coffeepot in hand. She lifted her head at the sound of the door and lowered the glass decanter.
“Morning.”
“Good morning,” he replied. Well, that was…good. At least she was speaking.
Shayla plucked another cup from the cabinet and placed it on his side of the bar. “Help yourself.”
He slid onto the stool and poured himself some of the dark brew. Shayla took the seat across from him, her attention glued to her own swirling concoction of caffeine, cream and sugar. Cup in hand, Creed inhaled deep. There was no easy way to approach the subject, and they had to start somewhere.
“For the record…” Someone had to go first. Creed figured it might as well be him. Shayla lifted her lashes and glanced over the rim of her mug. “I apologize for my actions last night.” He closed his eyes and released a harsh sigh. “I wasn’t myself.” Creed opened his eyes and lowered his coffee to the table with a clunk. He met Shayla’s gaze, held it, making sure she felt the sincerity in his words. “I’ll move back outside. This was a bad decision on my part, and I’ll make sure you’re not put in that situation ever again.”
“Stop. Creed…” Shayla shook her head. “You don’t have to sleep outside.” She sighed. “Last night wasn’t all your fault. I’m the one who pulled out the tequila.” A metal pop sounded from the counter behind her, signaling her toast was ready. Shayla pushed from her stool and after buttering her bread, returned to her seat. “You want something to eat?” She held up her glistening sample and his stomach rebelled.
He gave a dismissive wave to her offering. “No thanks.” Food was the last thing on his mind, but what did hover there sparking his neurons and begging for his attention, Creed refused to pull into focus. The images of Shayla’s mouth wrapped around his shaft were seared in his brain, but as long as he kept them at bay, maybe he could survive. Maybe he wouldn’t end up obsessed with the idea of burying himself in every one of her orifices. Would her pussy be even hotter? His cock swelled. Reflex had his grip tightening on his mug.
Damn, damn, damn.
“Whether I was drunk or not,” he added through clenched teeth, “doesn’t matter, and it’s not your fault. I’m an adult.” He took a deep breath and loosened some of the tension on his jaw. “The fact that does matter is I’m off Sustain, and I need to keep my distance until I’m retrieved.” Creed took another large gulp from his cup, then pushed from his perch. “Thanks again for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, her words soft.
Creed gathered his few items and stuffed them in his pack.
“This really isn’t necessary.” Shayla rounded the bar, heading for him.
“Yes.” He craned his head in her direction. “It is.”
“You have no idea how long you’ll have to camp out there.” Her hands went to her denim-covered hips. “It could be days, weeks.”
“Two weeks, tops.” He hauled his pack up, placing one of the straps over his shoulder.
“Creed…” she drawled.
“I need the distance, Shayla.” Maybe she’d detected the tone in his voice, or perhaps noticed the way he couldn’t help but touch her face—her body—with his gaze, but realization finally sparked in her eyes.
“Okay.” She nodded. “We’ll give each other some space.” Shayla turned for the kitchen, but stopped halfway and glanced back. “There’s always coffee on, and I hate to eat alone.” She smiled, and the effect on his groin confirmed he’d made the correct decision.
He needed to keep his ass outside.
* * * * *
Shayla replaced the phone on its charger, having gotten the latest on her little girl and blown her a few kisses over the line. She swiveled to the stove, pulled the meatloaf from the oven, set it on top, and yanked her heatproof purple mitts from her hands. Leaning in, she inhaled. It didn’t smell half bad, if she had to say so herself.
Since she and Maddie had moved in with her mother, Janice, she hadn’t cooked in months. Janice was fabulous in the kitchen and enjoyed taking care of them. Besides, her ex had never been happy with anything she ever tried to cook, so she’d given up trying, and he’d be even more thrilled with the extra ten pounds she’d gained since moving back home.
Creed was such a refreshing change from her last experience with a man. He never looked at her as if she needed to be fixed. The way his gaze roamed over her made her feel pretty, desired. If things were different, Creed was a man she’d really love to get to know better. She smiled. Through all his gruffness, he made her feel good about herself. Even through all the pain, the detox, he made every effort to put her comfort first.
Nothing like Brad. His wants and needs had been priority. The expression on his face every time he’d glanced her way had resembled disappointment. From her cooking to her weight, he’d found her wanting. Shayla had no idea why she’d allowed herself to live like that for so long. She sighed.
Tonight, the effort had felt good to put together something more than a sandwich and a bowl of soup, and she had to admit, she was worried about Creed.
She’d checked on him periodically throughout the day when she’d taken a break from her PC. But she didn’t have to look out the window to know he’d been restless. The boards creaked with his every movement, and he’d moved a lot. Except for the sound of the wood, he’d been quiet, only venturing inside a couple of times to use the bathroom. Even then, he’d made every effort to keep his distance and remain silent.
One last check on the veggies, and the time to invite her Double T inside arrived. Her stomach flipped, and for a second, her knees went all watery. She gripped the Formica for added support. The last twenty-four hours had been so out of character for Shayla. Opening herself up to a man like she had last night, even if she had been a little more than tipsy, and now cooking dinner this evening for the guy. After Brad’s multiple betrayals that everyone seemed to know about except her, she’d erected a shield against men. For over a year she’d been in such a bad place that the concept of romance, even between the pages of her stories, felt too far out of reach. Too unbelievable.
Maybe the fact that Creed appeared to need someone as badly as she did, then toss in the factor there was no chance it would ever go beyond the cabin, made letting her guard down feel less risky. In
the seclusion of her mountain retreat, Shayla could be that woman she’d rarely, if ever, unleashed.
Shayla tucked her hair behind her ear, smoothed the front of her pink V-neck tee, and headed for the porch. With one glance, she located Creed in one of the rocking chairs, studying some text on his cool 3D handheld computer.
“That thing is so awesome,” Shayla said, edging a little closer.
Creed looked up. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Just doing a little reading from some of the stored files.”
“Find anything of interest? Something that might help?” She crossed her arms under her breasts.
“Not really.” The disappointed sigh that followed tugged at her heart.
“Well, I don’t have the long-term solution, but I do have something that might help you feel a little better for the next few hours.” She moved in front of him.
“Oh really?” Both of his brows shot up, and a corner of his sensual mouth quirked in a half smile.
“I do.” She grinned and stuck out her hand. “Hand me that.” Creed cocked his head but complied, and placed his device in her palm. Shayla set it down with the rest of his supplies and spun on her heels. “Come with me, Mr. Donovan.” She beckoned with one finger and marched back to the door. At the threshold, she glanced over her shoulder. Creed’s eyelids narrowed as he rose.
“And what do you have planned, Ms. Murphy, if I do?”
“If I tell you then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” She shrugged.
Creed halted in his tracks. “I don’t do surprises.”
“Of course you don’t.” Shayla rolled her eyes and laughed. “This will be fun.” She pivoted, grasped his palm, and tugged. “Come on.”
He dropped his gaze to their joined hands, but didn’t move. Apprehension darkened his expression.
“Creed.” She squeezed his fingers and he looked up. “It’s dinner.” Shayla made an attempt at an encouraging smile. “That’s all.” He lifted his chin and then nodded. “Good.” She released her hold on his hand and moved inside, Creed on her heels. “That and maybe a movie.”